All He Could Do
by ivyflightislistening
Summary: The flock has finally accepted it: Jeb is gone. One-shot of Fang trying to help Max get through it. "Her eyes hadn't succumbed to tears yet, but this was Maximum Ride.  She didn't cry.  It didn't mean that she didn't feel."


**Hey everyone-quick one-shot I came up with as the flock realizes that Jeb isn't coming back. Enjoy!**

**-ivyflightislistening**

She sat in the center of the bed. It was still much too big. Jeb hadn't known how tall they would grow, how long they would stay, and both she and Fang had what was called a queen mattress. It dwarfed her. The quilts, the green pillowcases (her favorite color), the enormous window looking out on the mountains as the fourth side of her room, Max was so tiny in comparison. Maybe it was because, at age twelve, she looked like a good breeze would blow her over. Or maybe it was because all the fight had been blown out of her.

She was sitting cross-legged. Cris-cross-apple-sauce is what Angel would have said. The stunning sunset didn't register in her eyes. He had seen those eyes; they had been watching him for the majority of his life. They were brown, yes, but they weren't sparkling like usual. They didn't let on to her sense of humor, her compassion, her adventure, who she was. Rather, if anything, they gave the hint that she was about to crack. Her eyes hadn't succumbed to tears yet, but this was Maximum Ride. She didn't cry.

It didn't mean that she didn't feel.

He stood in her doorway, leaning against the frame and watching her. He registered the flicker of anger in her expression. They had been raised on anger. Even if she was unable to laugh, she was certainly capable of the need to rip somebody's head off.

"What do you want?" Her lip curled, definitely angry now. How dare he, how _dare he_, after all that had happened, how dare he come? He had never liked Jeb; he had the gall to openly despise him in front of the rest of their family. The pair had nearly come to blows countless times, and Fang had voiced his concerns to Max just as many. This had resulted in even more arguments.

_Once a whitecoat, always a whitecoat._

_He can't be trusted. _

_Where does he go, when he's gone for three days?_

_What do we owe him?_

"Are you happy now?" She attempted a very Max-like snarl, but the thickness of her throat kept the threat from its full potential. "Now that he's gone? Is that why you're here, Fang? You here to gloat?"

He looked up at her through his messy black hair, with the black eyes that trapped her every time they lured her in. They spoke to her, but this time she didn't want to hear the words.

"No!" She screamed, whipping the pillow clenched in her fist at his head. "What do you want?"

He took a step inside the doorway, ducking carefully to retrieve the pillow and hold it out. A peace offering. But it wasn't the gesture that grabbed her attention, but rather the expression in his suddenly soft dark eyes. She hated it. How could she be angry when he wasn't being his usual impossible self? Had somebody cloned him? Who was he, to come in here-

"I'm sorry." He whispered in her direction, coming forward to the foot of the bed and handing back the pillow. He hesitated, hand jerking, about to brush her stray hair from her eyes, but he hastily withdrew and stuffed both hands into the safety of his pockets. They both looked down, her previous rage cooling somewhat under his steady presence.

"What for?" She asked gruffly, wringing the pillow in her hands. "It's not like you kill-" Abruptly, she froze. Fang looked up, not pausing this time to take her hand.

"I'm sorry that you're hurt." He whispered to her in his usual detached tone, but it was the words that counted, because she knew that he would never be caught dead saying something he didn't mean. Words were important to him. "And I want to give you this."

It was an odd, jerky movement. He wasn't very practiced. But he hopped on the bed and reached his equally skinny arms around her, pulling her close.

She didn't cry, but she fell into his hug and collapsed on his shoulder.

"Thanks." Max whispered, almost inaudible, but not relinquishing her hold. Fang didn't have to reply. And, despite how glad he was that he no longer had to creep around the house or argue with Max, he almost wished that there would be a knock on the door, their secret pattern, and Jeb would come blowing in with the snow, complaining about traffic and bad weather. But in his heart, Fang knew that wouldn't happen, and this was all he could do for his best friend.


End file.
